Beginnings: A Harleen Quinzel Tale
by Angelic Temptress
Summary: Not long after the events of THE DARK KNIGHT, Joker is moved to Arkham, where Dr. Quinzel works. This fic is influenced by the Batman: TAS episode "Mad Love" and the comic series, "No Man's Land." I don't own the characters. Story may be unsuitable for some readers, especially if under the age of 17.
1. Session 1

Jonathan Crane whistled as she passed his cell. She stopped and acknowledged him although the voice in her head told her she shouldn't. They weren't in a controlled environment, and she hadn't spent nearly enough time with his files.

He sat in a chair, facing the glass that separated his room from the hallway. His thin hands traced invisible designs into the fabric of his pants as he smiled.

His icy blue eyes struck her, and she felt as if he had the ability to penetrate her right then and there – through the reinforced glass, past her defenses, and into her mind. Crane's eyes were rimmed in red from lack of sleep, and his skin looked incredibly pale.

Inmates didn't get a whole lot of sun.

"Well, look at you," he snickered. "A pretty, little doctor, groomed to take my place."

"And look at you. Locked up in the same madhouse in which you tortured your patients. Isn't irony sweet?"

He laughed. "Feisty as well. I'm beginning to like you."

She adjusted her glasses. "I'm glad to hear that because our first appointment is tomorrow afternoon."

"I know. I'm thrilled." He laughed. "You really think you can help these freaks and weirdoes, don't you?"

"Things are a little different now, Crane."

"Scarecrow," he corrected harshly. "And what do you mean by different? Things have only gotten worse here in Gotham."

"Well, psychiatrists no longer torment patients, wear masks, or take kickbacks from mobsters."

"Not yet."

She stepped closer to the glass. "There is one thing I don't have in common with my co-workers. I don't think you're crazy."

He stood and walked closer to the glass to whisper, "Something else we have in common, Doctor…" Crane strained to read her nametag. "Quinzel."

"So, you agree that you are fully capable of appearing in court and are very aware that you get off on inflicting pain psychologically despite the fact that it's immoral?"

His intense eyes showed no response. After a moment, he motioned to a cell down the hall. "Speaking professionally, what about that one? What's his deal?"

Doctor Quinzel glanced over her shoulder to the door labeled "Joker."

"He was brought in by Gotham MCU just over an hour ago. I haven't had the chance to speak with him. I don't think anyone has." She quickly turned and glared at Crane. "Besides, I'm not at liberty to say. Have a nice night, Doctor Crane."

"You do the same. I'm looking forward to our meeting."

Harleen took about ten steps before she stopped again. This time, she paused before the Joker's cell. He hadn't been given the chance to change out of his purple slacks and colorful socks although his shoes had been removed, and he still wore the straightjacket he came in with.

The face paint hadn't been washed from his skin yet either, but it was cracking and revealed portions of his true appearance.

"Good evening, Doctor Quinn."

"It's Quinzel. Doctor Quinzel."

He shrugged and licked his dry lips. "Oops." Joker rolled his head, cracking his neck. "What's in a name anyway?"

"I suppose one would say that when one doesn't have a real name."

"I have a name."

"I'd love to learn it."

Joker widened his permanent smile, showing off his yellow teeth. "I believe it's on the sign outside the door."

She glanced at it and then back at him. "That's not a name."

"It's the only one I've got."

"That's a real-world avatar. It may as well be a screen name." Harleen raised her voice, "Doctor Crain uses one too."

Clearly amused, Crane called back, "I think she's comparing us."

The Joker smacked his lips. "Interesting."

"You obviously have some obsession with clowns, much like Crane finds some significance in scarecrows."

"Or like Batman has a fascination with bats."

"For example."

Joker awkwardly stood from his seat on the floor. His restrained arms were of no use and only made moving about his cell more difficult. "You think I'm afraid of clowns?"

"Maybe. Or maybe you admire them. Clowns manage to laugh when bad things happen. Maybe something bad happened to you once."

She watched as he looked her up and down. Harleen didn't move, knowing he would recognize any sort of nervous tick.

Black paint surrounded his dark eyes, giving him a more malicious appearance. It had bled into the pores of his face, mixing with the white of his cheeks and forehead. He looked demonic.

He took several steps closer to the glass. "You… you want to know how I got these scars."

"Yes. I do. They're clearly important to you, Mister…"

"Joker."

Harleen smiled. He wasn't going to make any of this easy. "Okay. Mister Joker."

At that remark, he chortled.

"Well?" she asked and set her hands on her hips.

"What is your first name, Doctor Quinzel?"

"Harleen."

"Hmm. Would you mind terribly if I called you 'Harley?'" he asked, leaving only an inch between his body and the glass.

"Not if it makes you more comfortable."

"Good because you need a new name. Harleen Quinzel sounds too harsh." He licked the corner of his mouth and said her name again, stretching the syllables so they would sit on his tongue and teeth and lips for longer than necessary. He shook his head. "See, Harley Quinn, on the other hand, resonates just right."

"Harley Quinn. Harlequin. Cute. Heard it before."

"Well, a joke like that will never go out of style. And when you know a good joke…"

She narrowed her eyes. "I thought you were going to tell me about those scars."

He made a clicking sound with his tongue. "You are the very first person to actually ask me about them. I don't mind sharing stories, but most people don't really care to hear them."

"I'm a psychiatrist. I'm supposed to listen."

Joker suddenly crashed his head against the glass, startling Harleen. She jumped back and clutched her chest.

"When are you and I going to talk?"

She tried to regulate her breathing but couldn't help swallowing shallow breaths. "But we're talking now."

"No. No, I overheard that you and, uh, bag-head over there are having some one-on-one time." He awkwardly turned his head so he could look up at her, his painted skin squeaking against the glass. "Don't tell me he's the only lucky guy in here."

"I don't know. I – I would have to talk to the Commissioner and –"

"I get it. Rules. You have rules to follow. And that Gordon will only give you more rules…" He backed up, leaving an unsettling residue behind. Joker paused. "What's with the tan?"

"Excuse me?"

"The tan blouse, brown skirt and shoes. What's that all about?"

Harleen glanced down at her outfit and adjusted her lab coat.

"Are you trying to disappear? Trying to blend in with the dirt beneath your feet?"

She couldn't respond. Her jaw had dropped at his remark. Harleen had to fight to shut her mouth.

The Joker made a tsk tsk sound and shook his head. "You're too pretty for that, Harley Quinn."

"Goodnight," she replied and continued the walk toward her office.

"Be sure to visit soon."

Harley stopped to call over her shoulder. "I'll see what I can do about the straightjacket. You shouldn't have to sleep in that."


	2. Session 2

Harleen stood in her bedroom and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, analyzing the outfit she had chosen earlier that day. The pencil skirt and blouse weren't exactly impressive, but she wasn't trying to impress anyone. She was a doctor, someone the inmates could feel comfortable talking to.

She let her blonde hair down and tousled her locks. It reached past her shoulders these days because she hadn't had the time to visit the salon. Harleen had even begun bleaching her roots on her own while she went over criminal records or listened to session recordings. Sometimes it seemed that she got lost in her work.

"Maybe he's right." Harleen removed her glasses and tossed them onto her nightstand. She was farsighted, after all. She really didn't need to wear them all the time. Her fingers began unbuttoning her blouse, and she peeled off the tan clothing to reveal the plain white bra she'd gotten at Target. She then unzipped her skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground.

Matching cotton panties.

Harleen didn't have a bad figure. She was still a pretty good gymnast and tried to stay in shape, but she hid her body. She never had been one to flaunt, even when she wanted something.

One of her last professors knew that. He may not have minded the white underwear, but he did mind the blackmailing that came after.

"You know, you really should lock the door," Mark said as he entered her bedroom. "I mean, I could have been a rapist."

"I knew you were on your way," she replied.

"No need to ask for trouble though."

She ignored the comment. "Do you think I'm boring?"

"What?"

Mark Roberts was her boyfriend, a not particularly handsome guidance councilor at one of the local high schools. He passed a note to her in Psychology 201 her sophomore year at Gotham State University, and they'd been sleeping together ever since.

Of course, he didn't know much about the criminal psychology classes she'd taken or the professor she'd taken advantage of.

"Boring? No. I mean, we both work a lot, and we're tired by the end of the day."

"Don't you wish I dressed differently or something?"

He shook his head and dropped his briefcase besides the bed. "You dress fine."

"There must be something."

"I don't know. I guess I wish we had more sex, like we used to."

"Like we used to?" She narrowed her eyes. "Jeez, Mark. We were in college, drunk half the time. Lord knows how many times we screwed while your perverted roommate pretended to sleep and jerked –"

He laughed. "Okay, that's not what I meant." He kicked off his shoes. "It's just ever since you got this job at Arkham, you've been consumed by it." Mark sat down on the bed and loosened his brown tie. "You were never really one to pay much attention to me, but Harleen, it's Wednesday night. You usually have takeout ready. I only spend the night here once a week. Is it really that difficult? I mean, I have dinner on the table every Friday you visit."

She groaned. "I have a lot on my mind."

"Well, so do I."

"Mark, you're dealing with angsty teens occupied with erotic and druggy experimentations. I'm working with criminals." She joined him on the bed. "My first meeting with Jonathan Crane is tomorrow, and they brought the Joker in today." Harleen grinned. "I actually engaged in a brief conversation with him, and he's nothing like anyone I've ever studied before. If I get the clearance to begin sessions with him –"

"He's dangerous."

Harleen rolled her eyes. "Most of the inmates at Arkham are. They wouldn't be there if they weren't. But if my superiors like my work or if I make progress with a mind like Crane's or the Joker's, I could be a full-time staff member. I'd be paid more, and I'd be doing what I love." She frowned when he didn't smile. "Why aren't you happy for me?"

"I am," he muttered. "I'm just… I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm not thinking clearly."

She heated a pair of meat loaf TV dinners. Mark had a beer with his meal. After they watched the evening news, they had sex. It was quick, and Mark fell asleep right after. Harleen didn't. She drank a glass of chocolate milk and read through the Crane case file for what could have been the hundredth time.

) (J) (

"You're looking rather lovely today, Doctor Quinzel." Jonathan Crane said as he waited for the handcuffs to be removed. He rubbed his wrists and took a seat on the couch. The security guard waited for Harleen to nod before he left the room.

She sat in a chair, holding a pen and notepad. Today, she'd chosen gray slacks and a black turtleneck. Her legs were comfortably crossed, and she stared straight into his blue eyes.

"And you look tired, Doctor Crane."

"Scarecrow."

"Right." Harleen flipped through her notepad. "Now, Commissioner Gordon stated that you had inhaled a large amount of your own fear toxin last year."

"The Batman thought it would do me some good. I must admit that I agree with him now. It released me of what little fears I did have." He smiled.

"You never received an injection of the antidote?"

"I had a concentrated dose, a special formula that I had used on Rachel Dawes earlier in the night. An antidote would have done nothing at that point in time. It had already taken a permanent affect on my psyche." Crane paused. "Shame what happened to her."

"I'm sure you're brokenhearted."

He shrugged. "She was a nosy little bitch."

Harleen made a note. "I had been affected by the toxin you released last year as well. I know what it does to people."

"Did you enjoy it?" Crane seemed pleased. "What did you fear most?"

She ignored his inquiries. "Do you see monsters walking around you regularly?"

"I've grown accustomed to what I see on a daily basis. They're no more monstrous than you are at this very moment."

"You see me as a monster?"

"Why are you here, Doctor? I mean, you don't really want to talk to me. Sure, an appointment with the Scarecrow sounded intriguing until they brought in the clown." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "He's high profile, a level of terrorism that I didn't have the chance to reach."

"I want to help you, Doctor Crane."

"Please. To you, I'm just a drug dealer who wears a mask. I haven't had the chance to demonstrate my genius, and therefore, I'm old news." Crane crossed his legs. "The Joker, however, paints his face to draw attention to his disfigurement and to frighten his victims. He owns it."

"You're just as interested in his case as I am."

"Maybe. Maybe not." He laughed. "You know, I really do wonder what you're afraid of."

Harleen shook her head. "We're not here to talk about me."

"Of course not. That's why you took this job." He ran a hand through his dark, greasy hair and leaned back on the couch, extending his arms. "We study the lives of others so we don't have to pay attention to our own."

"Is that why you became a psychiatrist?"

"No. The mind impressed me. It concurrently enhances and limits us. Of course, I'm more interested in the limits it sets." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I think you're afraid they'll learn that you're a fraud."

"Really? A fraud?"

"Doctor Quinzel, the lab coat looks good on you, as do the thick-rimmed glasses, and you fit the profile."

"What profile?"

"Your family has a history of mental illness."

Harleen uncrossed her legs. "How the hell do you know about that?"

"Please, don't be naive. You were an applicant when I still worked here. I read your essay." He leaned forward. "It's sad. Your mother never really was normal, was she? You've always felt that you had to be the adult."

"Again, Crane, we're not discussing my –"

He interrupted. "For a moment, you felt free when she slit her own throat."

She clutched her pen. "Stop it."

"After that moment, you realized she never even knew you were there."

"We are here to talk about your past, Crane, and you have no right –"

"You want everyone to accept you, by any means necessary… I'm surprised that the Joker's observation of your attire was dead on. If you blend in, there's no chance of forgetting someone who was never noticed…" He shook his head. "This way, no one will realize that you're a threat."

"Am I threatening to you?"

"I'm not the one who should be worried." He leaned in a little more. "You have this potential, Doctor, and he noticed it. And, damn. If he knew the feelings were mutual…"

"Mutual?"

"You know, I may have experimented on my patients, but I never wanted to fuck one."

"Bite your tongue, Crane."

"Oh, but Doctor Quinzel, I heard him last night, grunting in the dark as he pumped his fist." Crane suddenly stood and gripped the arms of her chair, leaning over her. His sour breath hit her face, and he pulled her chair closer to him.

"He used his little nickname for you, Harley Quinn. Yum… Harley Quinn… It feels good on the tongue." He laughed as the security guard ripped him away from her and handcuffed him.

Harleen immediately stood from the chair, knocking it to the ground. She dropped her notepad and left the room for her small office, slamming the door behind her. With her hand clutching the collar of her coat, she tried to slow her breathing.

Crane was not about to give her an anxiety attack.

A single red rose that sat atop her laptop distracted her from her panic. She opened the note attached to it and read out loud.

"Come and see me sometime. – J."


	3. Session 3

"How did this get into my office?"

The Joker smiled from the seat on his cot. "I put it there." The paint had been washed away. She could see his real face now and the true nature of the scars that stretched from the corners of his mouth and across the sides of his cheeks. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his face was an unhealthy sort of pale.

She considered his words for a moment, but Harleen was irritated. "I'm sure the security guards would like to know that you can get in and out of your cell without detection."

"I'm sure they would." He stood. "But I don't think you're going to tell them."

"And why is that?"

"If you were going to tattle, you already would have."

She frowned. "I needed to be sure."

"Uh huh." Joker pursed his lips. "I heard about the squabble between you and the Scarecrow through the grapevine." He shrugged and clicked is tongue. "He said some terribly nasty things about you and me."

"I don't want to discuss what was said confidentially."

He strolled to the glass. "You'd think that a woman of your status would be appalled by my actions."

Her eyes widened. "So what he said was true?"

"It is flattering, isn't it? I mean, I'm a labeled anarchist, but yet, you managed to make me feel human for a short while. You may not have been physically here, but you were mentally the best I've ever had."

She took a step back in disgust. "You're a pig."

He took a step closer. "Perhaps, but intriguing nonetheless."

"I don't want to find one of these again," she stated, motioning to the rose.

"You deserve flowers. Red ones, especially. The color was made for you."

Harleen tried to fight the butterflies in her stomach.

"He doesn't give you flowers, does he?"

"Who?"

"The man who chiseled the frown into your pretty face." He scratched the back of his head. "He doesn't really hear what you have to say either, does he? I mean, I don't understand that."

"You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe, but I feel you're the only one I can talk to about me, about what's inside," he stated and pointed to his head. "You're not judging. You haven't condemned me just yet." He placed his hands on the glass. "Harley. You could talk to me, and I'll talk right back. I promise."

"It's not for me to decide."

"I won't talk to anyone else."

"That's not how it works."

"Then make it work."

) (J) (

"Perhaps putting a novice like you on Crane's case was a bad idea."

"I'm sorry I disappointed you. It won't happen again."

Doctor Bartholomew Wolper, the head psychiatrist at Arkham, sat himself down once Harleen sat in the chair before his desk. "It's not your fault. He's a man who studied in the same field as you, as all of us. He knew what you were going to ask and what he could say to shake you up. It was foolish of us to believe that he was harmless." He pulled a bottle of scotch from his desk drawer and poured Harleen and himself each a glass. "I'm sure he's eaten novices like you for breakfast in the past."

"What about the Joker?"

"What about him?"

"Who is he assigned to?"

Doctor Wolper shook his head. "No, Harleen. You nearly got injured today."

"I let Crane catch me off guard, and I know that. You said I was your best applicant, now let me prove it."

"Gordon just brought in a woman the other day, a Doctor Pamela Isley, a botanist and environmental activist. She's been accused of poisoning several men, including her fiancé. She's more on your level."

"I want the Joker." She paused, considering her words. "He said he felt he could talk to me."

Wolper narrowed his eyes. "He's targeting you. He probably thinks you're our weakest link."

"So let him. At least we know he'll talk to me." She stood, placing both hands on this desk. "He won't trick me. I'll be ready. I'll do my homework."

"The same sort of homework you did for Crane?"

"All right. That's fair, Doctor Wolper, but Crane had access to my files before he left and I arrived. No one informed me of that."

He looked shocked. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize –"

She interrupted, "Just let me be the one Joker talks to."

"Harleen, if I let you do this and something happens, I'm not going to take responsibility for it."

"Nothing will happen."

Wolper considered is options for a second and muttered a low, "No." He swallowed his entire glass. "I'm taking two weeks with him. If what you say is true, your first meeting will be in three."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"If you feel he's too much, we'll have you taken off his case immediately. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

) (J) (

"I keep attending appointments with that self-righteous fool, Wolper," the Joker said as Harleen walked by.

She stopped in front of his cell. He hadn't even turned to confirm that the doctor in the hallway was her. Today, he sat with his back against the glass so she couldn't see his face. His legs were extended straight before him.

Had he memorized her footsteps? Could he sense her?

"Like I said before, I'm not in charge of which doctors patients are assigned to."

"No. No. No." He slowly shook his head from side to side. "You are not a woman who lets others decide her fate. You want me just as much as I want you, Harley. You may as well admit it."

"Doctor Wolper assigned himself to your case, and he wants to help you just like I do."

Angry now, he growled, "You're repeating what he's told you."

"I'm following orders."

He elbowed the glass, and she gasped. "Don't say that! The rules don't apply to us, Harley. We have a purpose, and we have a message. Doctors and lawyers and commissioners will never understand people like us." Joker took a deep breath. "Besides, I told Wolper I wouldn't cooperate with him."

"You did?"

"I said I wouldn't talk to anyone else but you." His body straightened. "You and I are connected, Harley Quinn. Don't try and tell me you don't feel it too."

Harleen glanced in both directions. The hall was empty, except for the Joker's cellmates, and she didn't think any of them were paying much attention. She took a couple of steps forward, her heels clicking as they hit the ground. When she was close enough, she touched the area of glass that his greasy and faded green hair was pressed against and wondered how dry it would feel against her fingers.

"Imagine if there wasn't glass between us," he whispered.

Harleen smiled.


	4. Session 4

The hot water hit her and rolled off and into the growing puddle in the tub. Harleen felt filthy and hoped the water would destroy the evidence of her thoughts. It didn't. She could tell that they remained with her, that they had wrapped themselves around her body and pressed against her skin.

She closed her eyes and pictured his dirty hands, his gritty nails, scratching lines into her thighs. He had coarse hands that slightly hurt when he massaged her breasts and gripped her hips. And he kissed her roughly, leaving red and white stains on her face, and she thought the peeling paint tasted like candy.

As Harleen slipped her fingers down the muscles of her abdomen, she visualized his dirty fingers twisting into her cotton panties.

And Harley wanted his fingers inside of her, she wanted him deep inside.

And she was sure she felt his dry lips curl into a smile against hers.

"Harleen?"

She stopped herself. "What? I'm in the shower."

Mark poked his head into the bathroom. "I need you to hurry, okay? We're meeting Joanne and John in a half an hour."

"Okay. I'll be ready."

As soon as he closed the door, she started to cry.

) (J) (

"Are you all right, Harleen? You seemed distracted tonight, even more than you have been."

Harleen pulled off her coat and draped it on the couch. "I'm fine. Just tired." She turned and gave him a forced smile. "Your friends seemed nice."

"You're wearing lipstick tonight," Mark noted and peeled off his jacket as well.

Her eyes grew a little wide. "Yeah. I thought I'd try something besides lip balm."

He took a couple of steps toward her and pulled her glasses from her face. He folded them and placed them on the kitchen table. "Red is very dramatic."

Mark kissed her. She backed away slightly, and before he could react, she pulled out her tube of lipstick. He watched as she reapplied. Harley then kissed him in return, making sure to pay close attention to the corners of his lips.

He grinned when they took a moment to catch a breath, and she was pleased. The red had stained his mouth into an even wider smile.

She took her position on the table and pulled him close, licking the shade from his face as he unzipped his pants.

Afterward, Harleen stepped into the bathroom to wash off her makeup and saw the discoloration on her own face. The red had bled onto her cheeks and below her lips.

She was surprised by how natural it looked.

) (J) (

"You win, Doctor Quinzel," Doctor Wolper said as she took her first sip of coffee. "He made it very apparent that he didn't want to speak to me or any other psychiatrist. The Joker named you."

Harleen was taken aback by his candor. "He asked for me by name?"

"His exact words were, 'I want to talk to the one you call Harleen Quinzel.'" Wolper paused. "You have been doing your homework, correct?"

"Yes."

"Would you be ready to take over for me in two days? That's when our next session is scheduled for."

She quickly nodded. "Yes. I'm ready."

He cleaned his glasses with his blue tie and set them back atop his nose. "I know you're eager, Harleen, but you have to be careful."

) (J) (

"Red? For me?" The Joker sat down on the couch when the prison guard freed him from his restraints. His dark eyes looked her up and down, and he grinned.

Harleen wore a red, silk blouse and a black pencil skirt with heels. She nodded in the guard's direction and waited for him to leave.

"Well, you like brighter colors. I thought it would make feel more at ease."

His smile grew wider. "Or it makes you feel at ease." He crossed his legs. "And it suits you. I like it." The Joker licked his lips and adjusted the collar of his asylum uniform. "You know, I hate these white scrubs that we're forced to wear."

Harleen started taking notes. "You miss your purple suit?"

"Like you said, I like bright colors. They make us all a little more chipper in the morning." He scratched his head and shifted in his seat.

"Why do you paint your face?"

He fidgeted again. "Because I like to."

"Is it your version of war paint? Do you wear it to intimidate others? Or do you feel you have something to hide?" Harleen uncrossed her legs briefly and then crossed them the other way.

The Joker watched her legs as she did. "Maybe."

"Maybe what?"

"Do you think anyone would have taken me seriously if I didn't wear the face paint?" He pursed his lips and slightly tilted his head.

The florescent lights made him look paler than she had expected. He didn't get much recreation time outside. The Joker was considered highly dangerous and therefore never socialized with the other patients.

"People take me seriously, and I don't wear face paint."

He shook his head. "No. That's not true. This…" He pointed at her clothing, letting his finger slowly roam from side to side. "This is a disguise. A little, blue-eyed blonde wouldn't have been taken seriously by her colleagues. But you, you are a go-getter. I can tell. You're the kind of person who would sacrifice her social reputation so her professional reputation would benefit." The Joker uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "How many desks did you have to bend over to get this… position?" He chuckled. "No pun intended."

Harleen didn't feel humiliated, but she swallowed hard and could feel her body warming. "Your foul comments need to stop if you want me to help you."

"Pumpkin pie, I think you belong on the other side of the glass, where you'd be more appreciated."

Harleen thought it was best to ignore his remark. "You told me that you'd elaborate on your scars. Can we talk about them?"

He nodded and ran his tongue over his yellow teeth. "Growing up, I lived with my older sister and my mom. We weren't what you would call a happy family. Mom was a druggie. She liked a cocktail of crystal meth, crack cocaine, and lots of vodka."

"I'm sorry."

Joker shrugged. "My sister was sixteen. I was twelve. I remember walking into the bathroom and seeing her crumpled on the floor. She'd used a razor to slit her wrists. The lines went up her arms so we couldn't save her if we had found her. I remember her blood had soaked the carpet.

"I screamed for my mom. I didn't know what to do. I was crying. Mom cried too, for a few minutes, and then stopped abruptly. She picked up the razor and took a hold of my face saying, 'Baby, I want to see us smile. We never smile.' Her eyes were red and glazed, and she smelled of booze and smoke." He traced one of his scars with an index finger. "She cut into my mouth and left me there to bleed. Then she did herself. They were both dead before the paramedics even got there. I ran away when they finally showed."

"Oh my God." She could feel herself tearing up.

"Two of the only women I have ever cared about killed themselves in the same day." Joker then grinned. "But at least I can smile about it."

"I know how it feels to lose a mother."

"You do?" The Joker's face seemed to show sympathy, an emotion others believed he could not feel. He just needed someone who could relate, someone who could understand him.

Harleen sighed. "My mother took her own life as well." She fiddled with her pen before asking, "How do you think this affects you now?"

He scratched his neck and fidgeted. "I don't know, except that my track record with, ah, women is spotty at best, but I have a feeling things are starting to look up."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I have you."

She bit her lower lip. "I think the flirtations need to end. They're inappropriate."

He narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm flirting with you?"

Harleen froze and took in a deep breath. "Haven't you been making advances?"

"That's what you want."

"What is it that you want?"

He chuckled. "If I told you… I'm afraid you'd be embarrassed."

"I think I can handle it."

Joker glanced at the doorway and then back at her, a smile dancing upon his lips. "Now, um, I want a lot of things, Harley."

"Well, I asked, didn't I?"

"You did."

Harleen pulled off her glasses in an attempt to be serious and looked him in the eye. "I thought you said you would talk to me."

The Joker seemed amused and raised an eyebrow. "I want to believe that if I share, you will blush, but I'm beginning to think that you won't."

"You can tell me anything," she whispered without meaning to, but Harleen couldn't scold herself before the Joker distracted her.

He leaned in, closer toward her, and whispered back. "I want Harley Quinn all to myself."


	5. Session 5

"I don't know what you're doing, Doctor Quinzel, but you're doing it right."

Harleen looked away from her notes and up at Doctor Wolper with a confused stare. "I am?"

"Yes. I'm congratulating you. The Joker hasn't given anybody trouble this past week. I think talking to you has calmed him down some."

She smiled. "You really think so?"

Wolper nodded. "If this is a small glimpse of something long-term, perhaps he may be able to socialize, get some recreation time with the other patients. That is, if you keep up the good work."

"I intend to. He's a fascinating person, and I think he would only benefit from interactions with others. If he relearns what it means to have friendships and relationships…"

"He could relearn that people matter."

"Exactly."

Wolper took a bite of his Heath bar, bits of chocolate falling atop his tie. He then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his fat index finger and took a seat before Harley. "I really hope you're not forming an attachment to the Joker."

"Well, there's always some sort of investment with a patient, Doctor Wolper. I mean, we want them to succeed, to get better. I find it rather difficult not to care whether he improves or not."

He took a moment before stating, "He's not your friend, Harleen. You have to remember that."

) (J) (

The Joker wrinkled his forehead as he considered her question. His eyes looked to the ceiling of the room, as if he'd find the answer there.

Harleen unintentionally doodled a heart on her notepad and then quickly scribbled over it.

"I don't know why I did what I did. It seemed like the thing to do."

"You created chaos in Gotham."

He grinned. "I was a catalyst for the city's chaos, but the Batman had to suspend it all."

She glanced at her notes and shook her head. "Commissioner Gordon stated that the Batman was responsible for five deaths, including Dent's and Maroni's. I don't see how that could suspend anything you had planned."

Joker rolled his shoulders, cracking his upper back. "This city will learn the truth in due time. The Batman's reputation may be smeared but his conscious is not. I can't help but respect a man like that. I'm hell-bent on turmoil, and he is hell-bent on order."

"And how do you feel about what happened to Harvey Dent?" Harleen put her pen down and ran a hand through her locks. She noticed the Joker watching as she did.

"Harvey Dent made his own choices. He just had a bad day."

) (J) (

"I'm your friend."

The Joker responded. "You're more than that."

Harleen sat Indian-style on her bathroom rug, tucked between the tub and the toilet and listening to the recordings of the previous day's session with her Joker. She wore a black, silk pajama top, black cotton panties, and, because it was a little hot that evening, she'd pulled her hair up into a set of pigtails.

She hadn't turned on the lights. She could remember the room better this way. Harleen could picture the two of them as they conversed softly in the fluorescent lighting.

"You think we're good friends, then."

"I think I'd take care of you. I'd watch over you like one would watch the stars. You'd be a constellation if you weren't a person. I believe that."

Harleen could hear the smile in his voice. She smiled too.

"Pumpkin pie, you're the kind of girl a man should show off on his arm. This lab coat and glasses only hide you, hide you from the world. You shouldn't hide from the world. You should own it."

"I should own it?"

Harleen closed her eyes and pictured his face.

"Turn the world on itself. Knock 'em all off balance by being who you're meant to be and not what they want you to pretend to be."

She remembered Joker reaching to touch her.

"What are you doing in the dark?" The lights shot on.

Harleen jumped to her bare feet and clutched her chest. She couldn't catch her breath. Mark stood in his stupid gray boxers and Hanes socks, his finger still on the light switch, staring at her. The tape recording continued to play.

"I want to make you smile, Harley girl. The ways I'd make you smile. Mmm. And you could make me smile in return."

Mark glanced down at the tape recorder and back to Harleen. "What the hell are you listening to?"

It kept playing. "Mister Joker, your innuendo is inappropriate."

"Oh. Is that why you had to shift in your seat?" Joker mumbled humorously.

Harleen bit her bottom lip. She didn't say anything. She wasn't sure if she was embarrassed.

"You let that maniac talk to you like that? And you were flirting back?"

Her chest felt heavy, and she did her best to slow her panting. "Listen, there is a specific way that I have to talk to him so he'll respond without –"

"This is sick, Harleen. What you're doing is sick. Were you in here touching yourself?"

"What?"

"Why else would you be sitting in the bathroom, in the dark, listening to that tape?"

She narrowed her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. "And what if I was?"

"I'd say you're insane."

Harley laughed. "I'm insane?" She continued to laugh.

Mark crossed his arms over his chest. "You think this is amusing?"

"No. I don't. What's amusing is that I'm finally realizing that I have been living like a patient at the asylum for years now."

"And your solace is masturbating to your sessions with this madman?"

"Oh. Well, you know, Mark, the Joker's voice makes me come harder than any part of your body ever did. Fingers and tongue included."

"Are you kidding, Harleen? You can't even make yourself come anymore."

Harley narrowed her eyes. "I guess things have suddenly changed."

"You're telling me you actually think about that psycho in that way?" Mark marched up to her, his Colgate breath hitting her in the face. "You're just as sick as the place you work at. Are you doing this to get back at me for something? Is this some stupid, passive aggressive, girl thing you're doing to get attention? Is there something not working with you and me?"

She shook her head wildly, stepping past him. "No. Mark, my life isn't working! I mean, why in the world have I contorted my body to fit into this ungodly mold? Why am I with you living this ordinary and forgetful life? It's mundane. I'm nobody dating a nobody! And I found someone who makes me feel complete, who makes me smile. You should be happy for me."

"Happy for your delusion? You're talking crazy!" He yelled over the Joker's voice.

Harley smiled. "Crazy, huh?" Her voice perked up a bit.

"What you're doing is revolting."

"He he. You revolt me, sugar-cakes. You make me sick with your boringness and your unimportant-ness. You make no difference in this world. You're just a bug on that windshield… of the car… of the man." She considered her words. "I think that made sense."

Mark threw his hands up. "You're a crazy bitch. And go ahead; get your head screwed by that unhinged, crackbrained whacko. While you're at it, let him fuck you too. Maybe then you'll finally feel something."

Harley screamed and shoved Mark with all of her might. He fell backward, his head slamming on the edge of the bathtub.

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, not quite sure what had happened.

Mark didn't move. His body slumped at a peculiar angle, his neck bent slightly forward and to the side with the tub propping his head.

"Mark?" Harleen whimpered.

Nothing. No sound besides her own voice being played back by the tape deck.

She'd never noticed Mark's lazy eye before.

"Mark?"

Harley slowly walked forward, careful not to startle him. She poked him with her index finger, but he didn't react. She did it again. Still nothing. Then she noticed the red puddle forming at the bottom of her white tub.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. What am I going to do?" Harleen tried to slow her breathing so she could think straight, so she could come up with a solution to this predicament.

Mark had been her lover, her boyfriend, for years. And now he was dead, a lifeless corpse whose head sat at a weird angle. Harley thought for a moment, waiting to see if tears would fall. They never came.

"Well, at least we thought about the mess," she told Mark. She blew her bangs out of her eyes, thinking aloud. "Now, what do I do? I can't just leave you in here. I have to shower in the morning."

The Joker chuckled. "I can't wait until our next session, Harley."

The tape player stopped playing.


	6. Session 6

Harleen stepped into Arkham confused. Orderlies raced toward a destination unbeknownst to her, so she curiously followed, readjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she quickened her pace. She couldn't explain the bad feeling she had. It felt like a brick in the pit of her empty stomach, weighing her down. Harleen felt as if she couldn't keep up or as if the world moved in slow motion, keeping her from seeing him.

She turned into the high security hallway, passing Scarecrow's cell without a glance in his direction. Her eyes focused on the inmate being dragged toward her. The brick grew in size.

The Joker had been subdued, could barely open his eyes or lift his head as two burly men pulled him to his cell. When he saw her, Joker tried to rip away from them, but the smaller of the burly men used a taser.

She gasped as electricity sparked from the weapon when it connected with Joker's chest. He didn't scream, simply succumbed to the pain. Harley hadn't gotten there in time to stop it.

"What are you doing?" Harleen demanded as she tried to get past the two orderlies. She grabbed the arm of the smaller and attempted to free her Joker from the man's grasp. "He's obviously already been drugged. You don't need to hurt him anymore."

The smaller orderly shrugged her off. Defeated, she watched as the Joker allowed himself to be thrown into his cell.

Dr. Wolper took a hold of her now flaccid elbow and pulled her back. She hadn't even heard him walk up behind her.

"Why is he being treated like some animal?" she demanded as she tore free of his grip.

"He attacked another patient, Harleen."

"Who?"

"Pamela Isley. They got into some sort of scuffle in the rose garden, and Joker had every intention of harming her. He made that evidentially clear with the shank she managed to knock from his hand with her spade."

"Why? What did she say to him?"

Wolper shook his head. "I think you're missing the point."

"She must have provoked him. He'd made so much progress in the last couple of weeks."

"Provoked?" an unfamiliar voice interjected angrily.

Harleen turned her head to see a redheaded woman wearing a patient jumpsuit and gripping a wounded shoulder. She was taller than Harleen, even though she'd worn heels that day, and her eyes were a bright green. Her olive skin only complimented her plump, pink lips.

Harley felt a little funny.

"That Bozo said I needed pruning."

Harley giggled for a half- second and forced to straighten her smile. "Like a flower. Because you were in the garden. I got the joke."

Pamela narrowed her bright eyes. "Glad you found it amusing. Be sure to stop by my cell, and I'll give you the whole story about my bashing a mutilated face."

Doctor Wolper shook his head. "That's enough miss –"

"Doctor," the woman corrected.

Wolper signed, "Doctor Isley. Nurse Linda will take care of the cut on your shoulder." When Isley was out of hearing rang, he once again clutched Quinn's arm, only tighter this time. "What is going on with you?"

"You're hurting my arm." Harley whined.

"Harleen, you are not acting professional. I cannot believe you just laughed at her injuries." Wolper began toward his office, keeping a firm grip on Harleen as if he'd lose her if he'd let go.

He shoved her into his office first, and she stumbled onto his desk, catching herself on the edge with her hands. She quickly noticed the contents aimlessly sitting atop Wolper's desk: a box of pens, a pencil sharpener, an old pair of steel scissors, a stapler, and a blackberry. Wolper followed inside, closing the door behind him.

Harley whirled around to face him, slipping something into her pocket. "What's the big idea?" she demanded and huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Who do you think you are grabbin' me and tossing me in here just like those meatheads tossed the Joker into his cell?" She moved her hands to her hips, reprimanding, "That ain't any way to treat a patient and that definitely ain't a way to treat a co-worker."

The doctor pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one of his fat, sticky fingers and narrowed his dull eyes. "What is with the voice, Harleen?"

"You know, I've been thinkin' real hard, and I'm beginning to recognize the abuse that's been goin' on in this asylum. You said Mistah J ain't getting' any better, but I think it's because you misdiagnosed him." Harley raised her voice, "Ain't nothing wrong with him. He just thinks on a higher level than you!"

"If you don't compose yourself, Doctor Quinzel, you will force me to ring for security and have you escorted off the premises," Doctor Wolper squeaked.

Harley smiled sardonically and tilted her head. "Did you just threaten me, Doc?"

"I'm afraid you brought this on yourself, Harleen. I think you overworked yourself. I think you spent too much time with the patients."

"And?"

"And I think Arkham Asylum is not a good fit for you."

Harley thought a moment, lightly biting her lower lip as she processed his words. "You know, doc, I think you are absolutely right." She slowly sauntered to him so she could look him in the eye as she pulled an item from her coat pocket. "Consider this my resignation." She plowed the stainless steel scissors through his white coat, through the dress shirt, through meat and muscle, and into Doctor Wolper's heart.

She watched as the doctor stared at her in fear and amazement. His eyes widened as he attempted to say something. Harley thought she smelled blood on his coffee breath so took a step back as he slumped to the floor.

"Hrm," Harley scratched her chin, as if she were deep in thought. "I guess I could put you under your desk. Nobody ever wants to be in here." Harley grabbed his legs and dragged the good doctor around his stupid desk, not caring if his hands bumped into anything. Once she pushed his expensive leather, computer chair back, she used all her might to shove the doctor into the nook beneath his desk.

) (J) (

"Hiya, Mistah J." She waved and adjusted the strap of her bag. It was heavier than before. In her left hand, she held shoes, and had a pair of scrubs slung over her forearm.

The Joker raised his tired eyes and grinned when they locked gazes. She touched the glass and smiled in return.

"Harley, dear. You look different. Did you do something to your hair? Or is it something filthier that has you glowing?" He chuckled and stood. "Those for me?" he asked referring to the items she carried.

"Yeppers. Picked up two suits from the cleaners this afternoon! One is a boring white, the other," she motioned to her heavy bag, "purple."

The Joker's grin spread into a smile. "How very thoughtful of you."

Harely swiped a bloody card and the door unlocked. She then handed Joker the scrubs and the matching surgical mask. "I'm thinking the white is more fitting for this afternoon. Dontcha think?"

"Nice work, my Harley Quinn."

"Stick with me, Mistah J, and you and I will blow this popsicle stand."

) (J) (

The duo had walked right out Arkham's front door. No one had even suspected them as they got into her car and left over the bridge. Joker had directed her to an abandoned warehouse downtown. She'd just used the bathroom.

Now she stood before the broken mirror, staring at her recognizable reflection. She smiled today, and it felt really good. Harley carefully applied some black lipstick and darkened the shadow and liner atop and around her blue eyes. She then pulled her blonde locks into pigtails before flushing the toilet and joining Joker in the large, empty space.

He'd changed into the suit the asylum had confiscated when he'd first arrived. Joker had also applied his face paint, though she wasn't quite sure where he'd found it. Perhaps it had been stored in this very warehouse.

Unexpectedly, the Joker pressed her against the stony wall beside the restroom door, holding a gun to her forehead. She stared at him, not allowing herself to be afraid.

The barrel was cold, and it slid across her skin and to the left side of her head. The Joker leaned closer, whispering with his lips against her temple.

"You're not afraid to die, are you?"

"No. Not anymore."

He cackled loudly and moved his face so they could make eye contact. "I'm surprised that I really don't want to kill you." He was so close to her and his breath was stale and she hoped he was aroused.

Because she was.

Joker lowered the gun, gliding it down the side of her face, to her chin, her neck, her chest, her stomach… He licked his dry lips. "And I think the revolver likes you." He slipped the barrel of the gun between them and slightly stroked where she wanted him to touch her.

A small part of Harley wanted to scream, but it was drowned out by the rest of her excited body. She quivered as he pulled the gun away. He then handed it to her before taking a step back. "So, Pumpkin pie, what is it that you want?"

She focused on the revolver for a second, feeling its weight in her hand. Harley then looked at the Joker. She raised the gun, pointing it at him.

"I knew it. You wanted a gun."

Harley pulled the trigger. Joker didn't flinch as the bullet plowed into the drywall behind him.

He laughed.

"Well, Mistah J," she said and walked toward him. "Why don't you admit that you've wanted to screw me since the first moment you saw me." She shot at him again, this time shooting just in front of his shoes.

Again, he didn't flinch.

Harley pressed the hot barrel to the side of his throat, hearing his skin sizzle against it. She tossed the gun and licked the blistering circle, laying kisses along his neck and jaw line.

The Joker smiled and waited for her mouth to reach his, and when she kissed him, he kissed her in return. She gave him a smile and undid the Joker's belt but waited until she was on her knees before she unzipped his pants.

He chuckled as he ran his gloved hands through her blonde hair, freeing her strands from their pigtails. "You know, I could get used to having a girl."

) (J) (

This was it. This was the event she needed to confirm why she was alive, why she'd been put on this planet.

He was the catalyst for her reckoning, for her transformation.

Joker pulled on his overcoat. "We have work to do, Harl," he said and started walking out of the room.

Harley Quinn felt up her red corset and touched her leather pants. She started giggling. "Comin', boss."


End file.
